


Like a Dewdrop on a Lotus Leaf

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Forbidden Love, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, inspired by Hindu mythology (specifically the raasleela of Radha/Krishna)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As much as she wants to, as much as his warm skin calls to her, Katara knows she cannot touch him. Should not touch him. They are like a dewdrop on a lotus leaf, even when the universe places them together they are unable to touch. Forever cursed to be separated by the breadth of a breath. It feels dangerous to be here alone like this, so removed from their duties and destinies, testing the tempers of the fickle spirits that guide them.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Like a Dewdrop on a Lotus Leaf

**Author's Note:**

> ATLA takes its central concept of avatars from Hindu mythology but I feel like a lot of the show and fan content doesn’t reference much else. My friend and I were recently discussing the similarities in the stories of Krishna and Zuko: they were both crowned princes destined to remove a tyrannical member of the family from the throne, so they were unable to truly follow their hearts without compromising their duty to the world at large...and then I thought about the divine love of Radha-Krishna - which screams Zutara to me and thus this fic was born.
> 
> If you’re unfamiliar with the tale of Radha/Krishna, I’ve added a small summary in the end notes, but there’s a lot to the story that you would miss out so I highly recommend doing your own reading. 
> 
> Disclaimers: This fic is inspired by the Radha/Krishna raasleela and is in no way meant to offend anyone. The title for this fic is shared by the title of a Japanese poem by Ryokan - but a lot of the stories about Radha/Krishna often use the dew/lotus leaf metaphor to describe their relationship.

The tsungi horn always begins to play just as Katara finishes filling her pitcher with water at the river. Zuko must watch her from somewhere further up the riverbank, hiding in the shadows before dawn. She knows she should take the path home, familiar and safe but Katara can't ever help but follow that damned horn. It stops playing just then, teasing her, and in the dark she follows her heart through the grove of burflower trees where the grass is littered with sharp sticks that cut into her feet.

Zuko is always already there in the hidden garden, waiting for her on that cursed swing he had installed on the largest burflower tree. Today, however, he seems different. He regards her with an inscrutable expression, his golden eyes boring into her soul. Katara wishes he would not look at her like that. It fills her with a yearning she knows not what for, and her heart aches. Zuko does not wear his usual green and brown farmer’s tunic, the colours of the earth he tirelessly tills. He is dressed instead in splendid robes of red and gold befitting a king - and if Katara is to believe the rumours, he may very well be.

"You came," Zuko says quietly, like he cannot quite believe it.

Katara fights the urge to laugh deliriously. As if she could have not come. As if she has any kind of choice but to be bewitched by the magic of Zuko's horn, to follow when he calls like a snake charmed by a been. Instead of answering, she simply puts down her pitcher and he takes his cue to resume playing.

Katara dances.

That is the nature of their tale - Zuko plays the tsungi horn and Katara dances in this little clearing, twirling and swaying to the seductive sound of the horn. It matters not that there are rumours that Zuko is secretly a prince of a distant kingdom who has married a noblewoman, or indeed that Katara is the child born of the river who has married the village chief. Their titles and roles become meaningless in the midst of the flowers in eternal bloom, and they simply become two souls celebrating the joy of being alive through music and dance.

Zuko plays a faster, almost frantic tune today. Katara’s heart beats in rhythm with his melody. The rapid notes give her a bloodrush like no other and she laughs as she spins and leaps, her toes curling on the soft grass. He watches her intently all the while but there is none of the usual mirth in his eyes. Katara stops short and he follows suit. She finally recognises his expression. It is sorrow.

“The rumours are true then,” Katara says. Her voice shakes just a little. She tells herself it is because the dancing has left her slightly winded and not for any other reason.

“Depends on the rumour,” Zuko replies with a wry smile, gently placing his horn on the swing and taking a step toward Katara. 

The sun is only just beginning to rise but his golden eyes glow in the soft light of dawn, drawing Katara in further with their infinite depth. Even the pink scar around his left eye that always seemed to add to his brooding charm seems to make him appear softer, more vulnerable. He no longer appears to be the sturdy, stoic farmer that has charmed all the village maidens but a lost, lonely man.

"You are the lost prince," Katara too takes a step toward him, "From across the river." The realisation hits all at once, and her heart constricts painfully in her chest. He is leaving, though she does not speak these words out loud.

"Banished prince actually.” Zuko edges ever closer until he stops right in front of her. He gazes softly down at her, his expression unbearably fond.

He has never been this close to her before. He always calls to her from afar, with his tsungi horn and occasionally a soft smile. He has been close with the other maidens who sometimes join them in music and dance. He will hold their shoulders, their hands and guide them gracefully through a great many dance forms but he has never once danced with Katara. He only ever watches her, sometimes with unbridled desire when the other maidens form a circle around her as she twirls and Katara must pretend she does not see it, she does not feel it too. It is harder to pretend when they are alone like this. Now that Zuko is just a breath away she can smell the heady fragrance of flowers that emanates from his skin, see up close the soft black curls that reach down to his shoulders. She wants so desperately to reach up with her fingers and find purchase in his hair, for her nails to scratch against his scalp, to pull him even closer.

As much as she wants to, as much as his warm skin calls to her, Katara knows she cannot touch him. Should not touch him. They are like a dewdrop on a lotus leaf, even when the universe places them together they are unable to touch. Forever cursed to be separated by the breadth of a breath. It feels dangerous to be here alone like this, so removed from their duties and destinies, testing the tempers of the fickle spirits that guide them.

It is Zuko who throws caution to the wind. His hands snake their way around her body, one hand coming to rest on the small of her back and the other coming up to cradle her face. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity that hums through her skin and it feels as if her entire body is aflame. His gaze drills into her, like two suns burning hot and bright and calling out to her. He rests his forehead upon hers and closes his eyes.

“Dance with me,” he whispers.

Who is Katara to deny him?

They dance to music only they can hear, impossibly close. Katara rests her head on his chest and listens to the soothing beat of his heart. Perhaps it is not the dew on the lotus that describes them. With Zuko’s golden eyes and warm skin and Katara’s blue eyes and cool skin, perhaps they are like the sun and the moon instead. Unable to share the same sky, bound to forever gaze upon each other from afar.

She looks up to the heavens, where the stars of the night have disappeared and the moon begins to fade as sun’s light spreads across the sky. For a fleeting moment at dawn, the sun and the moon can be together in the sky to greet the new day. But they do not touch, like Katara and Zuko are doing now. There is no warm embrace, no beating hearts, no dancing to nourish their starving souls. No, what they are doing now is like an eclipse. When the sun and the moon come together in an embrace, the givers of light suddenly cast a darkness upon all else. An eclipse should not last too long, for the consequences could be disastrous. They should not be so selfish.

Katara disentangles herself from Zuko’s arms. He raises an eyebrow in question but she turns away from him. They should not be doing this. She cannot anger the river spirit, to whom she is bound in both life and death. She cannot behave this way for a man who is bound to leave in order to fulfil his destiny. And it will take him far away from her. The words goodbye get caught in her throat. Instead she turns back to look into his eyes and asks, “Why were you banished?”

He grimaces and the silence stretches for a long moment before he finally speaks. “It was prophesied, when I was a child, that I would be the one to bring doom upon my father. My uncle convinced him to spare my life, but not before he had branded me with the mark of banishment.” Zuko’s fingers come up to touch the scar on his face.

Katara really should know better by now, but she cannot help but reach out. Her fingers graze lightly on the burned skin, pink and hardened beneath her fingertips. She thinks of the pain and fear he must have felt as a child. How it must have tormented him all this while. His eyes close at her touch and he releases a shaky breath. “Your father is a cruel man,” she says and the tears that had been threatening her finally fall freely from her eyes.

Zuko gently wipes at her tear-stained cheeks with a thumb. “That is why I must leave. I must end his tyranny.”

And he will not come back, Katara thinks bitterly. No one will ever tease her, or play her the tsungi horn, or invite her to dance so freely ever again.

“Katara,” he murmurs, and the call of her name, which he has uttered for the first time, causes her breath to hitch.

“Say it again,” she whispers desperately, her hand coming down to rest on his rapidly beating chest, “Say my name again.” As the sun rises, she can feel the river stir from her slumber. Her request is dangerously selfish but she wants just a little more time.

“Katara,” he responds, “Katara, Katara, Katara. You are the Protector of the river, bound to a man the River Goddess has chosen for you. And I am a banished prince bound to a princess who will aid me in taking back my throne.” He gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I must take my leave now. I do not know if we will ever meet again...but perhaps in a future life we can- we can-”

Katara silences him with her lips. Just a gentle brush that steals his words from his mouth. Her tears have stopped now. “Go safely my dear prince,” she removes her hands from his body and takes a step back, immediately missing his warmth, “I promise that the river shall protect you in your quest.” She tears her eyes away and scurries back to her pitcher. She leaves him standing there in the garden without a second glance.

That is how she will always remember him. A beautiful prince who danced with her amongst the flowers. They can follow their hearts' selfish desires in another life where they are not honour-bound to their duties. Katara watches from the riverbank as the sun rises higher into the sky and the moon wanes from view completely. She wipes away the remnants of her tears and walks off down the well trodden path of her own destiny.

The morning dewdrops fall from the leaves and disappear into the earth.

**Author's Note:**

> To cut a VERY long story short: Krishna was the eighth avatar of the god Vishnu and he was born as the nephew of Kansa, the tyrant king of Mathura. He grew up away from his kingdom, in the villages along the banks of the river Yamuna where he was a cowherd. Raasleela basically means ‘divine play’ and refers to stories of Krishna playing the flute and dancing with all the maidens of Vrindavan, though his heart belonged solely to Radha. She was a milkmaid and she broke her family’s traditions by devoting herself to Vishnu rather than the goddess Kali. Radha and Krishna, although married to other people, were said to have formed a bond of divine love that transcended romance in the physical world and that is why they are always worshipped together. 
> 
> In conclusion, just because Zutara wasn’t canon in one lifetime doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worship them together for eternity.


End file.
